


The "incident"

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [36]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John go clubbing, but Sherlock "walking sex" Holmes, makes BAMF John more dangerous than anyone ever thought...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "incident"

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy it. The "incident" referred in chapter 33 of "Around the World"

John’s a man that usually controls himself… well, most of the times… not really… Actually, John’s a man that finds hard to control himself, he has his temper and he always makes sure that anyone that’s threatening his loved ones, meaning Sherlock now, knows about his ill-tempered manners, about his ability to break every bone in their body while naming them, or kissing them when Sherlock’s around walking over the flat with nothing but a sheet.

His temper has gained him a few nights in detention. Once he was at the mess in Camp Bastion, a bad joke, two beers and his world renowned bad temper, had him punished for two days without seeing the sun. He, as the army doctor he is, had broken a few bones in his fellow soldier’s body, a prank badly played had him down in the latrines for two days, without any sunshine in sight for the foreseeable future.

The second time he lost it was when Sherlock had punched him in the face and made him stumble. John’s world went black and he couldn’t hear a word, he was enraged and had hit the most beautiful man he had ever known… of course by then he was still in denial, even though he wanted to punch the smirk out of Irene’s mouth and kiss Sherlock’s cheek over and over again until he could make the tiny scab disappear… not that he would ever admit that

The third time he was with Mary at the Landmark Hotel, he not only lost it, but they were kicked out of several places because he couldn’t stop himself from kicking, both physically and metaphorically, Sherlock’s arse. His world went dark again, or actually red, he could feel his blood pumping in his temple, his heart racing, trying to escape his body. If he ever had to admit it, not that he ever would, he’ll have to admit that he proposed to Mary that night because he wanted to forget all about Sherlock, he proposed in anger.

The fourth time he kicked arse at the doss house where he found Sherlock. He “just” sprained a wrist, and just kicked a drug-addict for the sheer fun of it. Being the adrenaline junkie he is, he enjoyed kicking arse from time to time. John loved to punch; he loved to hit anybody that messed with him or his loved ones, currently Sherlock. It was better than to keep all the rage inside of him, like he had done when he remained silent after Sherlock “died”, or the way he acted when he heard Mary admit she had shot Sherlock. Silent John is dangerous, even more than hitting and kicking John. If he ever has to admit it, not that he ever will, he loves being BAMF!!!

“It’s for a case, John” Sherlock said while he changed into the freaking purple (aubergine, John) sex shirt that made him look like a fucking Greek god

“Right…” John sighed “and the shirt is for?”

“Your pleasure” Sherlock answered nonchalantly

“And we have to go where?” He asked while he buttoned up his ash blue shirt (a gift from Sherlock during their last Christmas) and watched as Sherlock pulled up some skinny black jeans that hugged him in all the right places, including that sinful arse of his, those long and slender legs, his calves, and… oh fuck… John had trouble concentrating and had to close his eyes, take a deep breath and stop his shaking hands before he pushed Sherlock down to the mattress and practically ravish him   

“To a club” Sherlock tucked his shirt in the tight-arse trousers “I need to follow a lead about the kidnapper”       

“And you’re wearing that?” John looked over at his now boyfriend and to those trousers, those fucking trousers that made his arse even more delicious than usual, that was there for the world to see, and the fucking purple (AUBERGINE!) shirt, and those damn buttons that looked as if they were about to explode and burst, and leave Sherlock’s pale chest uncovered

“Yes” Sherlock quirked a brow “Why?”

“Nothing” John huffed and chucked his own coat at his back

They arrived to the club and no sooner they went in, Sherlock was the centre of attention of the many men and women that were at the club, to say they were ogling was an understatement, there were not enough words in any language to describe the lustful looks they were throwing in Sherlock’s direction. He moved with the music, and John could barely resist those maddening hips. He placed a hand over Sherlock’s hips and led him to the back, where the bar was. Sherlock looked around for a while until he located the man they were looking for. He invited John to the dance floor and danced his way down to the guy they needed to capture

While they danced, Sherlock grinded against John, John held Sherlock’s hips close and let his body move with Sherlock’s much like when they were having sex. Sherlock delivered a few sloppy kisses and the human ocean where they were dancing closed around them. Sherlock looked around once again and saw the kidnapper. He called for reinforcements and Donovan captured the aforementioned in the loo, no disruptions were caused, and the perpetrator was taken through the back door

John and Sherlock kept on dancing, kissing, and grinding against each other. They were in their own world until a hand grabbed Sherlock’s arse, another one grabbed his groin and all of the sudden, a tall, tanned, blonde bloke grinded against Sherlock’s back. Sherlock could feel the man’s erection in his back and he felt disgusted.

It happened in an instant. A fist passed by Sherlock’s side and the blonde’s head bounced twice against the floor. The crowd dispersed and formed a human circle. A few friends of the blonde came their way and started kicking left and right. Sherlock, and his, until then, unknown skill for melee, ducked down, hit one of the men right in the nose and the man stumbled back, losing his foot and falling right in his arse

John, Captain Watson full mode on, took charge of three men, he was a beast. He pushed two of the men against each other and bashed a couple of skulls, his doctor instinct kicking in and knowing perfectly how to bash a skull to produce disorientation without breaking them. One of the men he hit stumbled backwards and bumped into another guy that went his way to John and tried… and try is a nice word for the utter failure the six eleven brute made… to hit the “tiny fucker” that pushed the arsehole against him.

John and Sherlock were back to back, hitting left and right until Lestrade and the Met’s finest made their appearance, taking in the ones that remained standing.

The result, seven broken noses, eleven broken arms, four broken legs, six guys with broken ribs, eight with sprained wrists, three with sprained ankles, five guys with concussions, one Consulting Detective with bruised knuckles and one Blogger/Doctor being contained by a very angry DI that shouted his head off to stop the Blogger/Doctor from killing the arse that had groped HIS Sherlock in the first place

The next morning, and thanks to Mycroft, the news never made the papers, the witnesses were “disposed” of (not killed, Sherlock made sure of that), all CCTV went missing, and the many chairs, tables, glasses and other stuff that paid the consequences of John’s ill-temper were paid in full before the owner of the establishment could know how many glasses he had lost.

John opened his eyes after Greg shouted him seven ways to Sunday. Sherlock tried to protect his boyfriend from Greg’s anger explaining what had happened and how everything began. Greg tried to listen with a straight face, but ended up laughing after Sherlock described how the blonde’s head bounced twice against the dancing floor

That night, Sherlock paid John’s “attention” very thoroughly, all night long. He felt incredibly happy and incredibly loved. John made sure to erase the other guy’s hands away from Sherlock’s body with his own, leaving finger prints, love-bites, marks and what not over Sherlock’s marmoreal skin.

This event will remain in their memories as “the incident”. The day that John showed Sherlock he was a jealous beast, the day John discovered he is a jealous man, that he rather spend a night at a cell than at home, because he felt pleasure, because he bashed a few skulls. That night, “the incident”, the first hit, made John realise he could never go clubbing again, much less with Sherlock “walking sex” Holmes, with his fucking purple sex shirt and those sinful trousers that hugged his delicious arse in the right places.


End file.
